


Artificial Grass (Baby It's You)

by auber_jean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BokuAka Week, Day 4: Seasons & Confessions, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auber_jean/pseuds/auber_jean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Bokuto is a romantic, almost to a fault. But well, it doesn’t mean that he is good at it."</em>
</p>
<p>In which Bokuto comes to a startling realisation that he's fallen for Akaashi's autumn man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artificial Grass (Baby It's You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arsenicjay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicjay/gifts).



> Seems like this is my first story on Ao3 and contribution to the Haikyuu!! fandom, so tread lightly, I suppose.
> 
> Dedicated to my dear friend arsenicjay, who has found her BokuAka calling and somehow dragged me into participating in BokuAka week. Prompted by her request for "Falling Autumn Leaves & Walking Through A Park".

There are many things that Bokuto can appreciate about Akaashi. The second year had been an amazing addition to the team since his arrival, he was completely level-headed and entirely capable of pulling Bokuto out of his worst sulks. His ability to make note of the finer details of the volleyball team planning made him a formidable vice-captain. And for that, Bokuto was forever grateful.  But these days there was something else about Akaashi that Bokuto found himself appreciative of; but the third-year couldn’t quite put a name to it. And for the next couple of days, the question of Bokuto’s pressing thankfulness towards Akaashi’s existence was starting to rattle his mind.

 

Bokuto's head perks up at the sound of the bell, briefly wondering how another whole school day had passed without his attention. He gathers his books and shoves them into his bag, rising from his chair to follow the crowd of students. Akaashi meets him at the door, his bag slung casually over his shoulder. 

“Akaashi!”

The boy nods in acknowledgment, waiting as Bokuto wades through the remaining students filtering out of the room before walking slightly ahead towards the change rooms.

Bokuto’s steps trail behind him before catching up completely, “What’s the regimen for today?”

Akaashi pulls a slip of paper from his trouser pocket, fingers unfolding the sheet with deft dexterity. Bokuto’s eyes track the movement in fascination, admiring the way the Akaashi studies the list, the subtle flutter of his eyelashes to the small crinkle on the ridge of his nose when he notices a mistake.  

And then it _clicks_.

Because everything about Akaashi Keiji has become magnified in Bokuto’s eyes. Every movement, every change in facial expression to the choice of words that he uses in his scolds have become fascinating. And that interest that Bokuto has doesn't seem to count for anyone else but Akaashi, and somewhere along the line Bokuto’s fascination changed into ‘like’ and then to something a lot like ‘love’.

Bokuto’s mouth drops, blinking in his new found realisation. Akaashi pauses in his steps to observe his captain, eyes studying him carefully.

“Are you okay?”  he says. And Bokuto feels so taken at the sight of Akaashi. It’s as if the feeling of everything that used to be a part of their everyday routine has now become a force that has his heart beating in his ears. 

“Huh?” Bokuto mutters, trying to cover up his delayed reaction, “Uh yeah. Just a bit tired.”

Akaashi nods vaguely, and continues with the reading over the regimen list. But Bokuto can barely register what the other boy is saying because his mind is moving at a thousand miles per hour. He tries to _hmm_ and _ahh_ in all the right places but by the end of it, Bokuto can’t tell whether he’s agreed to full day weekend practices or just signed off on player substitutions. When they reach the change rooms Bokuto speeds towards his locker and gets changed quickly in hopes that he can get his mind back into focus, leaving Akaaashi standing puzzled behind him.

 

Throughout practice Bokuto’s hands fidget by his sides, stumbling slightly through most of his manoeuvres, and stuttering in his movements when he runs up for a spike. He reassures the rest of the team that he is completely fine, though he can tell that they question his lack of sulking, and Bokuto frowns at the thought of being so predictable. In the end he just shrugs it off as genuine concern for his well-being, and once again mentally pats himself on the back for having such a great team.

But he can feel Akaashi’s perplexed gaze watching him from the other side of the court, and dodges the other boy’s questions as he races out of the change rooms in record speed to run home.

  

\----

 

There aren’t really opportune times for Bokuto to confess to Akaashi, although Kuroo would disagree, seeing as how often the two of them are together. But Bokuto doesn’t count the times after extended practice between him and Akaashi, because coincidently going out for dinner afterwards seems to be cutting it cheap and completely non-effort when Akaashi insists on buying his own dinner.

Bokuto is a romantic, almost to a fault. But well, it doesn’t mean that he is _good_ at it. 

He loves poems and well put together confessions, and laments slightly in realising that he was never artful with his own speech. There are often times when Akaashi will reiterate what Bokuto is trying to express, and if the setter isn’t around during the training camps, Kuroo would fill in, with equally dubious outcomes. One of which resulted in the half of the Shinzen team chasing Bokuto halfway across the baseball field after a miscommunicated conversation that had Kuroo rolling in laughter for hours after.

 

When he gets home, he sits at his study desk, brows furrowed in concentration. Bokuto’s attempts at letter writing come out in distinct bullet points scrawled in his messy handwriting, listing down all of Akaashi’s positive points accompanied by small drawings of smiley faces and excessive underlining under the points he finds the most important.

Bokuto considers the pros and cons of leaving the letter at Akaashi’s desk, but opts not to at the dead giveaway of his handwriting and messy points that seem more like morse code than actual legible words.

 So he considers his next best option, and calls Kuroo.

“Just do the logical thing, Bo,”  Kuroo’s voice sounds from the other side of the phone. In the background, Bokuto hears a distinct clatter, and the string of curses following.

“And what would that be?”

“Confess.”

“That’s not really the advice I was going for.”

Kuroo snorts, “Be honest. Akaashi can tell when you’re lying anyway.”

There is a beat of comfortable silence before Bokuto realises his friend’s complete lack of surprise at his love life inquiry.

“Hey Kuroo,”  Bokuto starts, voice curious, “How long have you known?”

At that, Kuroo laughs long and loud, “Me and Kenma had a mini betting pool. And it looks like I’m about to cash in.”

“Dude, c’mon.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move, Bo. And I’ll be hella proud when you do.”

 

\----

 

There are many things that Bokuto loves and one of those things is the summer. The heat on his skin, the burn rushing through him. Sitting under the shade of the trees and eating popsicles, trying to battle the hot air. He loves the sunlight and the energy. So when the season transitions with the months, autumn gets him a bit down.

Bokuto’s feet drag a little as he makes his way out of the school grounds. A chilly breeze blows past him and the fallen leaves swirl around by his shoes, making mini whirlwinds as they drift by.

He doesn't notice Akaashi standing by the school gates until it’s too late to escape. The boy’s face is comfortable despite having been waiting in the nipping air. Bokuto had been putting off his confession for a week now. And as a result, had been avoiding Akaashi in the instances Bokuto would otherwise be happy to see the vice-captain. He didn't want to be avoiding Akaashi though. If anything he sorely missed the other boy – for the past week Bokuto’s routine had been thrown off balance where the Akaashi shaped-hole in his life had disappeared, and he could tell that Akaashi’s retorts during practice were somewhat weaker than usual too.

There were some moments far and between. Like when it was just the two of them by the water fountains, refilling the team water bottles. Bokuto had been building his confidence to speak when Akaashi had started rattling on about the team budget, and the mood had been shattered. Bokuto is determined toconfess to Akaashi the right way, or his inner romantic won’t concede to it otherwise. Because Bokuto is all about the feelings, the fleeting in the swells of emotion, and he wants Akaashi to feel the same way that he feels every time he sees the other boy.

Lost in his own thoughts, Bokuto almost walks into Akaashi himself when the boy steps in front of him. His face appears slightly miffed by Bokuto’s less than joyous reception upon noticing him.

“Akaashi!”  Bokuto supplements a second later, blinking slightly at the other boy, “What’s up?”

“I was hoping we could go for a walk.”  Akaashi says as a way of explanation.

“A walk?”

“There are some matters I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh,”  Bokuto says, tugging at his bag strap, “Sure, I guess.”

  

They end up in the nearby park, just on the outskirts of Hamura. Trees line the main walkway, shrouding the two of them in a tunnel of leaves and branches, as small lamp posts slowly light up in the afternoon dusk. Both of them shrug deeper into their overcoats, trying to keep warm as the wind blows past their bodies, chasing leaves down the end of the walkway.

Akaashi walks a few steps ahead, his hair ruffling slightly in the breeze. Bokuto watches him quietly, realising how well Akaashi fits with the season. Completely undisturbed by the chill that follows him as though he is in his element, almost in the same way that he is when on the court, the ball flitting from his fingers in practised ease. It’s a thing of beauty and admiration that Bokuto feels, a surge of fondness rushing through him, and Bokuto has to swallow down the urge to reach out and touch.

Instead, Bokuto scuffs his shoe against the paved walkway, shoving his hands into his pockets, silently regretting having left his gloves at home, “So—“

“Are you avoiding me, Bokuto-san?”  Akaashi cuts in, slowing in his steps. His gaze stays focused on the trees, watching as they move in the wind.

Bokuto pauses, before settling for a “No,”  and more emphatically, “Not really.”

“Then what? You’re usually not this unfocused.”  Akaashi turns and stares, his eyes so bright and piercing that Bokuto has to take a minute to reel his mind back into focus.

“I’ve been thinking,”  Bokuto says, trying to sum up the right words,  “About stuff.”

“Stuff?”  Akaashi repeats as if uncomprehending.

Bokuto shuffles in his steps, feet skipping the cracks in the pavement, silently wishing that the conversation would turn around, “Yeah.”

 

Akaashi thankfully leaves it at that, instead probably choosing to mull over Bokuto’s vague spout of eloquence. But the silence looms between them, and Bokuto hates the feeling. 

He watches as the sky begins to dim, the autumn horizon warming into a gradient of deep reds and purples, and the swirl of colours striking him as romantic and warm. Bokuto shuffles behind as they keep walking down the pathway, his arms swinging far too wide to be within his own personal square, and Akaashi, he realises, doesn’t stray too far away either.

Bokuto takes a deep breath, gathering himself and the words, because it’s now or never. He mentally runs through the list of things he wants to say, stumbling over his soon-to-be speech in his head, the words coming out too far and in between. He exhales once more before starting to speak.

“Akaashi, I—“

But before he can say any more, Akaashi stops in his stride, turning around and tentatively reaching for Bokuto’s hand slowly and gently, intertwining their fingers until their hands are fit snugly together.

Bokuto’s mind stops at the sensation. He blinks down blankly at their now intertwined hands, mouth opening and closing in confusion, “Wha—“

“I’m not wrong, am I?”  Akaashi asks, and it’s the first time Bokuto has ever heard him sounding so unsure.

“No.”

Akaashi takes a slight breath, “Then—“

“Wait.”

Akaashi’s mouth snaps shut in mild surprise and possible relief.

“I was going to say it first,”  Bokuto argues, fidgeting in his excitement. The warmth of their hands spreads to his chest like fire, igniting his courage and spurring him on.

Akaashi almost laughs, “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“But you made the first move!”

Akaashi attempts to unravel his fingers from Bokuto’s hand, as if to pull away but Bokuto just squeezes tighter.

“Akaashi,”  he says, experimentally, voice nervous but altogether warm.

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”  And Akaashi just looks at him, the same look of exasperation but fondness that he’s been looking at Bokuto with, since the day they’ve met.

Bokuto beams, bright and overjoyed and says, “I like you.”

“I figured.”  Akaashi says, without malice, lips curved into a subtle smile.

Bokuto frowns slightly, brow furrowing, “Is that it?”

Akaashi smiles softly, and Bokuto has never seen anything better, “I like you too,”  he says, his hand squeezing firmly, and Bokuto never wants to let go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cheesy boys are cheesy.  
> I also took liberties in setting Fukurodani High School in the city of Hamura, Tokyo (For reasons you can probably google to find out :P). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


End file.
